


Searching the Stars For Something Unknown

by barelyaconcept



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: First Time, Fluffy, M/M, Maybe some angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sappy, egads my first porn piece run away, i make harlequin look hardcore, possibly awkward, seriously so sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barelyaconcept/pseuds/barelyaconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What are you looking for, Quill?<br/>Just a oneshot of first-time Roquill sex that spontaneously developed some angst and then a giant ball of sentiment that took over there at the end.<br/>People, this is my first attempt at smut.  You have been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Searching the Stars For Something Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> So much mush, y'all. This fic is like some probably-improbable sex and a ton of overly-sentimental nonsense and a Rocket and a Peter and probably some Star Trek references and dumped them in a pot and cooked it waaaaay too long. This is two thousand words' worth of nonsense and I will probably regret posting this in the morning. (Er. Later in the morning. It's like oh-three-hundred hours here.) Proceed with caution. There will be cavities and sinkholes of angst and sap. I'm pretty sure I didn't use the phrase "quivering member," but it was a pretty near thing.  
> Not sure if it's M or E, so I figured overestimating was safer.  
> (Edit: previously posted as catonthepianostrings, sorry for any confusion.)

“I know you for a dreamer  
Cause I've been a dreamer too  
You got that faraway look in your searching eyes  
And a heart that's steady and true”  
_-Ryan Adams/written by Sandra Boynton; “When Pigs Fly”_

 

_What are you looking for, Quill?_

It rings in his head even as the worn pads of small hands push him back towards his bunk, even as he knows Rocket probably isn’t even expecting an answer, but the question is still hanging there, and he can’t breathe with its weight pressed up against his lungs because what is he looking for, out here in the black? He’s never thought to ask himself, he doesn’t...

“I don’t know,” and he’s gasping for air because that’s not an answer, not really, but his heart feels that little bit lighter because someone else _knows_ , someone else knows that he doesn’t have a d’ast clue what he’s doing out here, stumbling around from job to job, and maybe it should make it worse, having a witness to his ignorance, but it almost feels like sharing the load.

Nimble fingers flick along his sides and he’s not really sure how it happened, but he’s bare and vulnerable before searching eyes. Rocket nods slowly, gives his not-an-answer all the solemn attention it deserves and maintains eye contact as he leans down over Peter’s chest. Peter can’t look away, can’t so much as blink because Rocket is seeing further than anyone ever has and he wants, he _needs_ him to know all the silent confusion that has slowly fermented into despair over the years. He wants Rocket to see all of him, and he wants to show how much he wants to see all of Rocket, and he nearly jumps when their noses brush and he finds himself cross-eyed and staring at Rocket’s whiskers for a second before he can focus back on Rocket’s eyes. Rocket lets out a gentle huff of laughter at Peter’s expense and the tickle against Peter’s face has him grinning in response and then they’re touching a little closer, more sure of their welcome. Cheeks rub against cheeks, noses brushing necks and fur pressing against near-invisible hairs, catching and slipping in a cascade of shifting sensation.

Peter finds a moment to draw his tongue away from Rocket’s sharp incisors and pull back enough to focus fully on Rocket’s face, to ask if this is okay, what he wants, whether Peter can touch him and the words catch a little at the warmth in dark eyes. “Can I.. I mean, is it okay if I touch you? Kind of... All over? Maybe?”

Peter can see a brief flash of amusement in the set of Rocket’s mouth, but he doesn’t say anything but a rumbly “Yeah, works for me,” and Peter thinks the look on his own face is probably some stupid, stupid, sappy smile but he doesn’t care because Rocket’s letting him roll them onto their sides and rub his hands all over that warm fur.

Rocket huffs a little in mock annoyance when Peter comes to his tail and runs his fingers backwards against the angle of growth, but Peter can feel the shiver it sends down his spine and he tucks his too-big grin in against Rocket’s shoulder as he pets the stripes back down.

He’s trying really hard to play it cool, not make this whole thing such a huge deal, but it really feels like a fuckin’ _ginormous_ deal to him and he likes Rocket kind of a lot and is determined not to fuck this up, so he thinks he can be forgiven when his hand trembles a little as he reaches for the hardness pressed up against his belly.

He spends a few minutes just touching without any real intent, soft and slow because he really isn’t sure what he might be dealing with here. The bone throws him for a loop for for a second (because _wow_ that sounds kind of awkward to pack into a jumpsuit) but it’s not rocket science (or, heh, maybe it is). Puns aside, it’s pretty self-explanatory, and with Rocket panting softly in his ear it’s not long before he’s stroking in earnest. He flops Rocket onto his back and hovers a little before he realizes this might be a problem and looks up to check on Rocket. The vaguely-nervous expression melts away when Rocket meets his gaze and Peter leans up to nuzzle against his cheek in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. He doesn’t want to speak, afraid to break through the soundtrack of creaks and wordless appreciations, but he needs to make sure Rocket is good with this.

“Let me know if you want me to back off, okay? We can do this a different way,” he says, voice barely brushing above a whisper, but Rocket smiles, apparently plenty reassured by his concern.

“If you do something I don’t like, you’ll definitely know about it. Now, let’s get this show on the road,” Rocket grumbles, and Peter can hear the genuine enthusiasm behind the put-on gruffness.

“Hmm, yessir,” he mutters into a fuzzy belly as he tracks his way back down to Rocket’s erection.

Peter’s jaw is aching -- he hasn’t been with anyone since some time before he met his team, and longer still since he’s sucked cock of any kind -- and Rocket’s trembling when deft hands reach down to pull him up for a kiss.

“Shhh, lemme see?” Rocket asks, and Peter has no idea what he’s talking about for a minute before he realizes Rocket is gesturing towards the weeping red of Peter’s cock, pressed to the bedclothes near one of Rocket’s feet. He shuffles them until he’s propped up against the bulkhead with Rocket straddling his outstretched thighs and he watches Rocket’s face closely for any sign that he considers sitting in Peter’s lap to be too demeaning. Rocket catches his gaze and winks at him taking a moment to tuck his head up under Peter’s chin for a little bite against Peter’s throat. Peter lets out a whimper that hits registers that he’s fairly sure he shouldn’t be able to hear and he flushes with embarrassment, but Rocket leans back to give him a knowing look before he leans back in to reconnect his teeth with Peter’s jugular. Peter squirms and gasps under Rocket’s solid warmth until he thinks Rocket must have decided that sex wasn’t worth the trouble and he was just going to leave Peter bruised and needy and please please can we just--!

But then Rocket is reaching down between them for Peter’s cock and _biscuits and stardust_ but either Peter was speaking out loud or Rocket’s a Betazed psychic because he’s mumbling something like “Yeah, yeah, we can ‘just’ if you want, but I really hope you don’t mind wearing a high-collared shirt for a few days.”

_I don’t want to._

The clarity of that thought, that he wants to have Rocket’s marks and never hide them, startles Peter back a little from the edge of orgasm and he’ll just have to remember to ask Rocket about that possibility later because he can’t really form words but he can reach around Rocket’s hands for Rocket’s cock and stroke it, press the pad of his thumb against the head and rub softly against it until Rocket’s breath hitches and he loses his grip on Peter’s cock. Peter catches them both up in both hands and Rocket’s clinging to his forearms as he strokes and the rush makes Peter’s head spin as he stares down at this little maelstrom of fur and circuits and heart who has completely ruined Peter’s plan of being unattached and floaty for the rest of his life because that question about what he’s looking for has an answer now.

He clenches his teeth down hard on words that want to spill out but that definitely would not be coherent and he strokes at them both and he meets Rocket’s gaze and he wonders how difficult it’s going to be to let him go if he doesn’t want to stay but that’s a worry for later because Rocket’s back is arching and he’s tucking his head against Peter’s chest and shaking and spilling all over Peter’s hands.

Over the slip of his hand against Rocket’s t twitching cock, he can hear him gasping words that Peter can’t catch all of but that sound like maybe “Peter” and “yes” and “please” and “good” and Peter really wants to take a minute to just hold him but his cock is way too insistent to allow for a rest as long as he’d like so he’s letting go of Rocket’s oversensitive penis and tucking him in close with one arm as he brings himself over the brink with the other hand, Rocket’s name spilling out in a desperate whine as his head thuds back against the metal of the bulkhead and soft paws pet along his cheeks and catch against the rasp of his chin.

He lets them both rest for a few minutes before he tucks Rocket down into the pillow and rises to look for a rag for cleanup. He resorts to wetting down a dirty t-shirt because he’s not sure he even owns a washcloth but he’s sure that nothing less than some attentive scrubbing is going to get semen out of fur and that just sounds horrifying.

Once they’re mostly clean (though there’s no way anything will smell like not-sex without showers and a full air-flush), Peter tucks himself between the blankets and Rocket against his chest and lets the familiar hum of the Milano’s engines relax him again.

Peter hums thoughtfully for a second and Rocket makes an inquiring noise at him. He startles, having thought Rocket had surely drifted off by then, but the deft fingers that begin to curl rhythmically through his chest hair eliminate any possibility of a somnolent bed partner. Peter considers the question Rocket had asked earlier in the evening and decides to take a chance before he loses courage.

“You... Well, you asked me what I was looking for, out here. I. Well, okay, I could ask you the same thing, first of all, but I think... I’d rather not be overly dramatic about it, but I think I was looking for a home, maybe. That sounds supremely dorky, but...”

“Hmm, it does, a little, but it sounds nice. ‘Was,’ though?” Rocket’s voice is quiet, but clear and coherent, the sound sending vibrating tickles down Peter’s throat where Rocket’s mouth is pressed close to it. “What happened?”

Peter hesitates, unsure whether confessing this much was a good idea, but Rocket had looked at him like he really wanted to know and Peter’s sure he isn’t being very subtle so if Rocket doesn’t want to hear this, he’d probably have stopped him by now, so he decides to go with it. “’Was’ because I think I’ve found it. ‘Was’ because if you hang around -- all of y’all, but you especially -- I think I won’t have to look for it anymore.”

Peter holds his breath for a few seconds and his heart lurches when Rocket starts shifting -- is he getting up? God, is he _leaving_?? but no, he’s scooting up the bed so he can look Peter in the eye across the expanse of pillow and smile. Rocket brushes their noses together and Peter’s teeth ache with the swell of tenderness that threatens to choke him.

He can barely look at Rocket because the amount of _contenthappystaying_ in his smile is blinding, but he can definitely hear Rocket’s whisper as he tugs him closer.

“I don’t think you’ll ever have to look for home again, Peter Jason Quill. I’ve got you now, and I don’t plan on letting go any time soon.” Peter grins down at him as his shoulders slump with enough relief that it feels like a hit of sedative. The last thing he hears before he slips off to sleep is Rocket whispering to him as he burrows into Peter’s chest.

“Goodnight, my Star-Dork.”

**Author's Note:**

> As noted, this is my first time writing porny anything and I kept thinking "I'll put my first sexytimez in this longfic!" but i keep putting it off so I'm just gonna get it out there and maybe we can move on and improve. Lord help me. I have no idea what I'm doing. Constructive criticism is the best! You people are the best!  
> I only sat on it for the fifteen-twenty minutes it took to spellcheck and prep for posting after I wrote this, but I'm afraid I'll chicken out if I don't post it while I'm here, so I'm sorry if it has too many glaring errors!


End file.
